


The Cute One

by shakeweightless



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Boy band AU, I'm so sorry, M/M, you read that correctly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 17:36:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakeweightless/pseuds/shakeweightless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire thinks that the hype over boy bands is a little ridiculous, but his roadie job pays well and keeps him busy. And, hey, if he innocently pines after the hot lead singer on his downtime, who even notices?<br/>(Based on the way tonight’s show is going, everyone.)<br/>Enjolras is bad at talking to boys,  their opening act can’t get it together, the fangirls won’t calm down, Jehan just likes sequins, and to be honest, this concert isn’t going great.<br/>But The ABC Boyz are going to rock the house anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cute One

**Author's Note:**

> the person i wrote this for really liked one direction and i know that's not a great excuse but it's the only one i have  
> i cannot describe in words how bad enjolras is at talking to boys

“I cannot _believe_ you dragged me to this.”

“Shut up, it’ll be fun!”

“Which one’s which, again?”

“Okay, well, there’s Enjolras, he’s the cute one-”

“Are you kidding? Marius is the cute one!”

“No no no, Marius is the innocent one.”

“Wait, I thought Enjolras was the sensitive one?”

“That’s Jehan.”

“You mean my future husband, right?”

“Get real, he’s mine! You can have Bahorel.”

“The bad boy? Gross. Too many tattoos. I’d rather have Courfeyrac.”

“Excuse me? Bahorel is the hottest man to walk this planet and you can take your awful opinions somewhere else.”

“At least Courfeyrac doesn’t have an ugly beard.”

“ _Take it back._ ”

“I cannot _believe_ you dragged me to this.”

“Can all of you just shut up? I think they’re coming.”

 

Enjolras knows that if he so much as undoes a button on his coat within ten feet of this crowd, the resulting cacophony of girlish screams will likely bust one of his eardrums. He tries tactfully keeping his head down as he hops out of the bus, but even his earmuffs combined with the fact that he’s pretty sure no one can see his face do not protect him from an instant and deafening wall of squealing. He jogs from the bus door to the back door (which, by the way, nobody was supposed to know they were using) of the venue, taking a moment to wave at some fans with a mittened hand.

Marius seems to be taking the same route, keeping his head down and his hands in his pocket, eyes wide. A girl in the crowd shouts, “I want to have your babies!” and he blushes an absurdly bright red, walking faster until he’s basically running by the time a group of about ten fans screams, “WE LOVE YOU, MARIUS!”

Courfeyrac and Jehan come out together, Courfeyrac running the whole way with his arms spread out to high five the fans near the walkway. Jehan takes his time getting to the door, blowing kisses at girls who wave at him and posing for pictures. As Bahorel is about to leave the bus, Jehan takes the band out of his hair, undoes his braid with a single swoop of his hand, and shoots the band, slingshot style, into the crowd. The girl who catches it shrieks, and Jehan bows and runs inside, his hair flying haphazardly behind him in the cold wind. Bahorel quickly runs after him.

The cheering comes to a rather abrupt halt as Grantaire exits the van with Courfeyrac’s bass under one arm and an amplifier under the other, Éponine jogging behind him with a couple of mic stands and part of Bahorel’s drum set.

“This is fuckin’ bullshit,” Grantaire mutters when Éponine’s caught up to him.

Éponine nods and mumbles something behind scarf covering her mouth, tapping the drum for emphasis at some point, though Grantaire can’t tell what she’s saying. He just nods.

When they break through the door, Éponine immediately sets down the equipment and whips off her scarf. “I demand a spot in your next video,” she says to Courfeyrac as he picks up his bass. “It’s only fair that I get to play Bahorel’s hot love interest after I carried your equipment in below freezing weather without so much as a shoutout from the fangirls in the front row.”

Bahorel laughs from the couch where he’s sitting with Enjolras and Marius, who are studying something on Enjolras’s computer. “First of all, if anyone plays my hot love interest in a video, it’s going to be Marius.” Marius clears his throat loudly and blushes.

“Second of all,” Enjolras says, passing the laptop onto Marius, “you actually haven’t finished carrying the equipment, so any negotiation at this point is void and-”

Éponine groans.“Oh my God, _fine_ , I’ll settle for being an extra, Jesus.”

“Talk about it with Combeferre,” Enjolras says, turning his attention back to his laptop.

“Third of all,” interjects Jehan, who has just emerged from a separate room and clearly has not heard the most of the conversation, “show of hands, who thinks Enjolras should wear this on stage tonight?” He holds up a red sequined newsboy cap that looks like something that a ten year old girl would wear.

Courfeyrac raises both hands and stands up.

While Enjolras is sighing over the rest of his band’s laughter, Éponine gives them all exasperated looks and puts her scarf back on. “Hoo boy. Okay. I’m heading out again. Let’s go, R.”

Grantaire, who has been sitting by the door and playing something on his phone (in between furtively staring at Enjolras, of course), snaps to attention and puts his gloves back on. He and Éponine brace themselves for the cold and open the door.

 

_Bzzt._

“‘Ponine, can you get that?”

Éponine picks up Grantaire’s phone and unlocks it with the fluid skill of one who’s known the password on her best friend’s phone every time he’s changed it for the past five years. “It’s from Enjolras,” she says. “‘R, can you get Bahorel’s hoodie while you’re in the bus?’” She gasps and looks at Grantaire. “I think that means he wants you.”

He looks up from picking up stray guitar picks and groans. “Please do not start this.”

_Bzzt._

“‘Maybe also my water bottle? I can’t seem to find it.’ Jeez, Enjy, keep it in your pants.”

Grantaire scowls in her general direction and quickly finds both the hoodie and the water bottle hidden between cushions on the couch.

_Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzz-_

Éponine frowns and hands the phone to Grantaire. He stares at the screen and furrows his eyebrows as the full text comes in.

 

**E:** R, Bossuet just came in and told me he lost all of his picks. All of them. I don’t understand either.

**E:** Also, he somehow busted a string on Chetta’s banjo and they don’t have any more. And Joly thinks he’s getting laryngitis.

**E:** To recap, we need guitar picks, banjo strings, and some hot tea or something, all before their sound check in an hour.

**E:** I’d tell Bossuet to get his own guys to do it, but they all spontaneously quit yesterday. I know.

**E:** Can you ask Éponine to go? Feuilly needs you here to help with the merch. Tell her I’ll make sure she’s compensated and paid extra.

**E:** And remind me to look into getting a new opening act.

 

At the statement that she would be getting paid extra, Éponine was scrawling a list of the things she needed on a napkin and grabbing her purse. She was out the door by the time Grantaire typed out, “It’s taken care of.”

 

**E:** Thank you so much. I owe you one.

 

Grantaire thinks it’s an odd thing to say, but he pockets his phone and lugs everything he can carry out of the bus and back into the freezing air.

The crowd has mostly thinned out, save for a few groups who hope that the band will come back out and pay special attention to them for being so loyal or something stupid like that probably. A girl standing near one of the rails taps him on the shoulder as he passes.

“Excuse me,” she says in a mousy voice. Grantaire turns to look at her. She’s wearing the most recent ABC Boyz tee (he realizes a second later that it’s the same one he’s wearing) and a rubber bracelet emblazoned with the words ‘Luckless and Lovely,’ the name of their opening act. She clears her throat when Grantaire meets her eye. “Do you know Enjolras?”

He squints. “Yeah?”

She breathes in heavily. “Is he really nice in real life? Does Enjolras have a girlfriend? Does he have a _boyfriend_? That’s okay too, you know! I was really sad when I first found out Courfeyrac and Jehan were together, but now I think they’re so. Cute.”

Holy shit. At some point Grantaire just sets down the amp he’s been carrying and stares at her. It’s almost impressive how quickly she’s spitting these questions out.

“Is it true that Cosette’s new song is about Bahorel?” It isn’t. Grantaire has literally never heard anyone say that. “Did they used to date? _Does Marius know they used to date_? Did you know that some people ship Marius and Enjolras together? It’s called Enjius. I don’t ship it, but my friend doe- _ow_!” Her friend has elbowed her in the side and is now scowling at her. “All right, all right, jeez. Oh, man, sorry dude, I’m rambling. Um, one last thing.” She pulls out a small piece of paper from her pocket and hands it to him. “Can you give this to Enjolras? I was going to hand it to him when he passed by, but then he sort of, you know, avoided eye contact.”

Grantaire, who has been silent for this entire exchange, takes the paper. It’s a flowery handwritten note with lots of hearts drawn in the margins and what he’s pretty sure is a phone number scrawled on the bottom. He folds it up and puts it in his pocket. “I’ll give it to him.”

She beams. “Excellent! Thanks, man!” Everyone’s thanking Grantaire today, for once. He thinks it’s kind of nice.

He hauls the stuff the rest of the way and knocks on the door with his shoulder. Feuilly opens the door swiftly.

“And _where_ have you been?” he asks with smirk.

“Chatting with a fan, can you let me in?”

Feuilly laughs and steps aside and Grantaire walks through the doorway. Most of the band has left this room by now, probably to go warm up or change. The only ones left are Jehan, who’s tuning an acoustic guitar that Grantaire thinks might be Bossuet’s, and Enjolras, who’s still in the same place on the couch. Grantaire tosses him the water bottle and Bahorel’s hoodie as he sets down the rest of the equipment and Enjolras gives him an odd look.

“Oh, yeah,” Grantaire says. “A fan told me to give this to you.” He takes the folded paper out of his jacket pocket and hands it to Enjolras, who receives it with a smile.

“You ready to set up the table?” Feuilly asks, picking up a box of shirts and kicking another in Grantaire’s direction as he heads toward the door that leads to the back hallway. Grantaire picks up the box with one arm and waves bye to Jehan and Enjolras with the other.

“Hey, R,” Feuilly says when they’re both out of the room. He clears his throat. “I feel like maybe I should tell y-”

Courfeyrac skids out of one of the hallway’s doors a few feet in front of them, and Grantaire drops his box.

“ _Did he do it_?”

“What the _fuck_?”

“ _What are you wearing_?”

Courfeyrac looks at Feuilly and then down at himself. “Oh. Ha. Yeah. We’re getting our wardrobe all sorted out. It’s pretty cool, isn’t it?” If Grantaire's being honest, Courfeyrac is pulling off the hot pink jacket and tie combo surprisingly well. "So that's a no?"

Grantaire has no idea what he's talking about. "I guess?"

Courfeyrac heaves a long-suffering sigh and dramatically flings himself back into the wardrobe room.

There's a long silence, and Grantaire clears his throat and picks up the box again. "You were saying?"

They keep walking. Feuilly shakes his head. "Nothing. Don't worry about it."

 

Grantaire is always amazed at how cheesy the tour shirts are. He figures Feuilly will want him to change into one of the new ones instead of the one he's wearing now, which is from two years ago, but god _damn_ , they are all so embarrassingly ugly.

"Did Enjolras design these?" Grantaire asks as he sifts through a particularly bad batch that looks like the band's name was written in WordArt.

"Who else would do it?" Feuilly says, tossing Grantaire a sweatshirt. "Wear this."

The sweatshirt is lime green with electric purple writing in a bold font that says:

 

ABC BOYZ

MAKE SOME NOISE!

 

At least it's soft.

He slips it on over his shirt. "I mean, I would."

Feuilly nods. "You definitely could. You've got that kind of eye. Make sure you bring it up with Combeferre by the next tour, though. I really want to stop looking at these as soon as possible." He hangs up one of the shirts and nearly cringes as he sees the font they chose for the tour dates on the back. "How's your art going, by the way? I feel like I don't see you draw as much anymore."

Grantaire brightens. "Actually, I finished something I had been working on while we were on the bus just recently." He reaches into his pocket. "I was going to show Éponine this first, but who knows when she'll be back and I really do value your opinion you know beca-" He blanches as he stares at the paper he's absent-mindedly unfolded.

A note, written in a girl's handwriting, with hearts drawn in the margins, and a phone number under the signature.

"Shit."

Feuilly looks up and furrows his brows. "What's up?"

Grantaire can't tear his eyes away from the paper, so he isn't even looking at Feuilly when he says, "You mind if I take five?"

"I guess not, but it really won't take us that long to-"

"Thanks." He bolts out of the auditorium and half-runs down the hallway, because he's got to go outside and call Éponine and yes, that will work, she'll know what to do because Éponine knows everything and _Grantaire, cool it_ , there's nothing to worry about at all he won't even-

"R."

Before he even turns around, Grantaire feels like he's about to laugh, because there's literally no way this is fucking happening.

Enjolras isn't smiling.

He walks toward Grantaire a little bit, and Grantaire notices he's holding up the folded paper.

"You drew this."

Grantaire is fully aware that there are many things he could say to get out of what's about to happen ("The fan drew that, and she also signs her art with an R, I guess." "I lovingly draw excruciatingly detailed portraits of all of my friends." "No."), but he's past excuses with Enjolras.

"Yeah."

"Do you have feelings for me?"

It's typical of Enjolras to get straight to the point, but Grantaire is still stricken with the bluntness of the question. He can't read Enjolras's expression. He doesn't even want to know what his own face looks like right now.

("Only since before you knew I existed, it's not a big deal." "I thought that was obvious by now." "Does it even matter?" "Yes." "Yes." "Yes.")

"I'm sorry."

Enjolras's face falls a little, and he puts his arm back down by his side. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"I didn't-"

"It's okay."

"Okay."

Enjolras pats him on the shoulder.

Grantaire goes back to the auditorium.

When Feuilly asks about the drawing, he left it in the van and Bahorel spilled coffee on it.

When Jehan asks about his eyes, he's just tired.

When Éponine finally comes back and knows something's wrong, he hates himself for lying to her, and swears to himself that he'll tell her later.

When Enjolras passes him and smiles sadly, he smiles back.

The show must go on.

 

Thanks to Éponine, the show actually does start off surprisingly well. Normally their opening act’s performance doesn’t pass without at least seven technical difficulties and Bossuet dropping his guitar, but as it stands, everything is going smoothly.

“I swear to every god, Enjolras, if you do not put on this hat right the fuck now I will put your phone number on a paper airplane and throw it out into the audience.”

Backstage, it’s a different story. Courfeyrac and Enjolras are, for some reason, arguing about the ugly sequined hat that Jehan found while Éponine and the rest of the band whisper furiously in a group huddle by the snack table. Grantaire organizes and rearranges and fiddles with the equipment about a million times before he decides it would just be more interesting to watch Courfeyrac and Enjolras bicker.

“A bet is a bet.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“I can’t-”

“Yeah, exactly. Put on the hat.”

Enjolras scowls and tears the sparkly abomination from Courfeyrac’s hands. “I’ll put it on before the first song, after the opening.” Courfeyrac grins and playfully punches Enjolras on the arm, then migrates to the snack table.

“Hey, Grantaire,” Combeferre greets as he walks through the door from the stage. He looks at the huddle, then at Enjolras staring dejectedly at his hat, and quickly dismisses all of it. “Five minutes, guys.”

Grantaire stands up to grab the guitar that still needs to be put in place and waves at the band as they pass to go backstage. Éponine picks up a small amp and nods for Grantaire to follow her.

Following her seems to be a completely wasted effort on his part, because as soon as they’re five feet out of the doorway, she starts walking faster to catch up to Bahorel, and Enjolras starts slowing down until they’re walking side-by-side, which Grantaire guesses is pretty consistent with everything else that’s been happening today.

He’s expecting another apology, or for Enjolras to ask if they can talk about it for a while, or Enjolras generally feeling sorry for Grantaire, because that just seems like the only possible option at this point, but nothing happens. Enjolras is, for probably the first time since Grantaire’s met him, maybe for the first time in his life, ignoring an uncomfortable topic.

This is worse than Grantaire thought.

 

The only thing worse than the shirts sold at ABC Boyz concerts is the intro to ABC Boyz concerts.

“Everybody stand up!” Courfeyrac shouts, even though everyone is already standing, as a spotlight hits him. The crowd goes wild.

“Make some noise!” Bahorel continues as another spotlight illuminates his place on the stage. At this point, Éponine is laughing so hard that Combeferre makes her go back to the green room until she can calm down.

“‘Cause we ain’t too pretty!” Jehan adds.

“And we’re not your boys!” shouts Marius.

“”It’s time to open your eyes!”

“See through the lies!”

“Destroy the guise!”

“And realize!”

“We can win this war!”

“So open the door!”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Let’s go!” That’s Enjolras. The final spotlight hits him, and the audience absolutely loses it. “ _One, two, three, four_!”

The song begins, and Éponine comes back shortly after. As soon as Bahorel sings the line, ‘There’s a revolution in my heart,’ though, she has to leave again. “Absolutely the cheesiest fucking thing…” she mutters through nearly-silent snickers as she makes her way out.

Grantaire waits patiently for the song to end, watching their performance on a small screen backstage and pointedly _not_ watching Enjolras dance _because that would be weird_. Bahorel plays the bass solo one last time, and the stage blacks out. That’s Grantaire’s cue to go onstage while everyone is cheering, flip on two microphones and Courfeyrac’s keyboard, and leave, and definitely _not_ have his arm grabbed in the darkness because _that’s fucking terrifying_.

He curses as a voice that’s unmistakably Enjolras’s apologizes for grabbing him and stage-whispers over the cheering, “Can we talk?”

There it is. “Don’t you have a show to do or something?”

Enjolras’s hand is still on him, but he can’t see anything. “Jehan, stall,” Enjolras whispers to somewhere behind him.

Grantaire hears a rustling and then, “What do you-”

“Anything, just _stall_.”

There’s a long silence, and then the sound of someone picking up a guitar and tuning it. Grantaire can see a little better in the darkness now, and catches Enjolras’s perfect smile briefly as he’s pulled away from the stage.

Apparently Jehan has told the rest of the band to take five, because he’s alone onstage when the lights come up. He adjusts the mic to his height and says, “This is an original song that I wrote just now called ‘It’s Past Enjolras’s Bedtime’.”

“What the hell?” Combeferre hisses as they pass, but they make it to the green room without stopping.

The second they’re alone and standing face to face, Enjolras blurts out, “I’m confused.”

Grantaire tilts his head. “Huh?”

“It’s just…” He sighs frustratedly and sits down on one of the couches. “Feuilly and Courfeyrac and Éponine all told me you had feelings for me.”

What? “Then why are you confused?”

Enjolras looks at him then, for maybe the first time all night, and his expression is almost accusatory. “Because you _rejected me_.”

They stare at each other for a long time while Grantaire processes that. He’s not really sure when the implications of what Enjolras said click with him, but it’s almost an out of body experience when he finally breaks the silence with a resounding, “ _Are you fucking kidding me_?”

Enjolras blinks. “Excuse me?”

“I…” Grantaire laughs dryly. “Enjolras, I’m in love with you. I always have been.”

Enjolras’s eyes widen and he stands up from the couch. “But you said you were-”

“Sorry, because I thought you would be angry.”

“Angry?” He looks personally affronted. “Why would I be angry when I-” Then it clicks for Enjolras too, and he looks very carefully at Grantaire and walks closer. “You thought I didn’t feel the same way.”

Grantaire doesn’t have to answer. Enjolras sighs, partly in relief and partly in frustration.

“But you do,” Grantaire says.

“Yeah. You too.”

“Yeah.”

They both step toward each other until Enjolras is close enough to put his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder.

“Um,” Grantaire says.

Enjolras takes a shaky breath. “Can I kiss you?”

“Oh my _lord._ ”

Grantaire leans in and presses their lips together right in time for Combeferre to storm in.

“Are you fucking with me right now, Enjolras? It’s like you want me to quit.”

Enjolras pulls away from Grantaire (but keeps his hands on him (which Grantaire is perfectly fine with)) and blushes. “Yeah, sorry, I’ll just, um…” He reluctantly steps away from Grantaire. “Go back to doing the band stuff. I guess.”

Grantaire smiles at him. “Yeah.”

“Can you two wrap it up?” Combeferre says.

They follow Combeferre out of the green room and backstage, where Jehan is finally finishing up his song.

“Enjolras,” he croons, and adds a flawless run that makes several girls scream. “Go to bed.”

The visibly uncomfortable crowd applauds, and Courfeyrac, Bahorel, and Marius swoop by Grantaire and pull Enjolras back onstage. The cheering increases in volume dramatically as the band gets in place for their next song.

“I’d like to make an announcement,” Courfeyrac says into the mic. The lights come up just as he’s walking over to Enjolras and placing the red sequined hat on his head. “Enjolras lost a bet.”

Enjolras blushes and shoves Courfeyrac away as the crowd giggles and ‘aw’s at his embarrassment. The lights dim again.

“What was the bet?” Grantaire whispers to Combeferre backstage.

Combeferre groans. “Apparently, Courfeyrac and Éponine said that if Enjolras didn’t ask you out before the show started, he’d have to wear the hat for the entire concert.”

“That’s really stupid.”

“That’s what I said!”

They both sigh and watch the rest of the show. Marius keeps looking like he has to stop himself from laughing every time he makes eye contact with Enjolras, and Courfeyrac is adding significantly more pelvic thrusting to the choreography than there should be, but considering everything, the show is going pretty well.

“I’m happy for you guys,” Combeferre says in the middle of the last song.

Grantaire can’t hold back a smile. “I am too.”

 

“‘Dear Enjolras,’” Courfeyrac reads with an exaggerated valley girl accent, “‘I think you and Grantaire are _sooooooo cuuuuuuuuuuute._ I am totally jealous of him. When are you guys coming to Idaho? XOXO, Kaylee.’”

Grantaire, who’s sitting next to Enjolras and tuning Bahorel’s bass on one of the bus’s couches, turns his face to hide his grin; Enjolras takes the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. Bahorel makes gagging noises and knocks several things over in a very dramatic pantomime of choking to death. Grantaire is impressed.

Jehan checks his watch, yawns, and starts rummaging around to find something to wear to sleep while Bahorel and Marius fold out the beds. Enjolras has taken out his laptop and is typing something while everyone else is getting ready to go to bed. Grantaire rests his head on his shoulder, reads what’s on the screen, and smiles.

 

_Kaylee,_

_Thanks for writing me! I’ll definitely consider putting Idaho on our next tour schedule. As for Grantaire and me, I’m glad you think we’re good together. We think so too._

_Sincerely,_

_Enjolras_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> god forgive me  
> ((the "not pretty, not your boys" thing is definitely taken from a russell crowe tweet whoops))  
> ((courfeyrac is the funny one))


End file.
